


At least check the alcohol content first

by Minkey222



Series: Peter Parker is young, dumb and reckless (and also in constant pain) [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: (at least I like to see it that way), Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Flash is a dick, Hurt/Comfort, Infinity wars killed me so I wrote this, No Smut, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Underage Drinking, peter is not okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-04-30 09:51:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14494338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minkey222/pseuds/Minkey222
Summary: So, yeah, maybe he shouldn’t have accepted the invitation to this party but what else does he have to do on a Friday evening in his boring, nerdy life? Spoiler alert: not a lot actually.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Infinity wars wrecked my life and I haven't written in so long and I have so many half-finished stories so I decided to start something new. IDK I just needed this so you can have it too I guess. Please comment, it makes me write more (cause I wrote this after I got a ton of comment on the first part and I have another two parts half written so if you comment I’ll post them :-))

So, yeah, maybe he shouldn’t have accepted the invitation to this party but what else does he have to do on a Friday evening in his boring, nerdy life? Spoiler alert: not a lot actually. Of course, he could go out Spidering but Peter’s been holding back lately since the whole Trace thing shook him up (he’s pretending like he doesn’t see her flinching away every time he closes his eyes (he pretends like he doesn’t see himself in that anymore)), so he reckons that it’s okay if he takes a break (even though he shouldn’t take a break because what if people get fault (and then it’ll be his fault)). Logically, Peter knows that what happens isn’t his fault and that it isn’t always up to him to stop everything in the city because that’s stupid. And impossible (doesn’t make him feel any less guilty) and really the sleepless nights are catching up with him and Ned is started to notice that something is wrong and he really doesn’t have the energy to reassure him anymore so really it was a God send when Flash sent him a vaguely suspicious text message at 10 pm on a Friday evening asking him if he wanted to join him at his “cool” party for “cool” people (not because he thought Peter was cool or anything but because he ‘needed a loser to up the coolness’ (okay, sure Flash whatever boosts your ego, Peter guesses)). Peter decided to go. The invite said bring your own booze and he guesses that’s fine too, he hasn’t really ever drunk in a party situation before and he hasn’t had anything stronger than a cider on the special occasion with Aunt May and although Aunt May has always been the “if you want to drink, drink in the house because I want to support you in your experience” kind of aunt and has never really been strict with it before Peter was just too shy and awkward to ever ask for anything stronger (nor has he ever really wanted to get involved but then again that’s just him being shy and awkward again).

But now Peter was desperate. Recently Flash has been getting better, not being kind to him or anything (he hasn’t eased up on the ‘Penis Parker’ nickname yet, but then again who can blame him, they’ve never really been friends in the first place) but he has certainly taken to being mutually civil with him and so Peter can take all he can get. So getting some drink isn’t that hard. On the way to the party (which he snuck out to go to) he slipped on the mask and sneaks in the back door of a run-down liquor store, he takes a bottle of something or other and leaves a couple of bills in its place (he already feels bad enough about taking it, he doesn’t want to be a thief as well) without being seen. It’s a rush and leaves him slightly out of breath and full of adrenaline (he wonders what it’s like to be properly blackout drunk, he wonders if it’ll feel anything like when he’s Spider-man and he’s swinging around full of euphoria (he wonders if what’s in the bottle will be enough to get him all the way to blackout)). Once he’s shoved the mask away into a pocket he reads the label “Bombay gin” followed by “40%” (he wonders if that’s a lot), it’s in a pretty blue bottle that shines in a nice way under the street lights.

He shoves his hands in his pockets as he walks, his heart hammering in nervous anticipation. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to be there when he arrives but he can certainly hear the beating bass riff at least a block away (he’s not really sure if it’s the super hearing or if it really is that loud) but he realises that he needs to do something to stop the awful shaking that the nerves have caused in his hands (he can picture Flash now (aw little Penis Parker is scared of his first party (he won't have it))) so he does the only thing he can think of, he takes the pretty blue bottle and cracks open the lid.  
At first, the sharp scent of the distilled alcohol overwhelms his nose and causes his eyes to water just a little bit but he shakes it off and steels himself. He brings the bottle to his lips and, as bravely as he can, takes a deep swing. He should have taken the warning that his nose had given him seriously because that burn is nothing compared to the tingling on his lips right now. Straight away the soapy taste takes over his mouth and he briefly wonders if he accidentally bought a cleaning liquid but, no, reading the label again he reassures himself that this is for drinking (although he’s not sure who would drink this and enjoy it but why does anyone do anything in this world (Peter won't judge them, he’s not the judging type and who is he to judge anyone since he’s the one hidden in an alley down the street from a booming party that he’s been invited to, feeling nauseous from one sip of gin)). His mouth is salivating like crazy and all he wants is a nice drink of water but he didn’t think that far ahead and he’s already he and all he has to wash it down with is more gin. He’s not sure he should have more but suddenly the walls of the alleyway are closing in and he hears deep, wheezing breaths behind him and the smell of copper blood is permeable in the air and Peter’s taking another swig before he can even think about what he’s doing. Then he’s taking another and before he knows it the gin doesn’t hurt so much. Maybe that’s a good sign, maybe it’s bad but he doesn’t know. All he knows is that the blood is starting to fade away and the walls are easing up and the breathing he thought he could hear was just his own ragged breaths.

Maybe his mistake was that he hadn’t really eaten much that day or maybe it was the sleep (or lack therefore) that caused this, but he’s pretty sure that with his metabolism he shouldn’t be stumbling quite the way that he is after so little (he’s lying if he said that he didn’t notice that at least a quarter of the bottle is gone already) but he doesn’t really care as he pushes himself up from the wall and staggers the rest of the way to the party. Nothing bad happens to him and the atmosphere when he finally arrives eases him up a little. Flash spots him as soon as he arrives and signals over to him. When he speaks Peter can smell the alcohol on his breath and he wonders in the soapy taste translates into it as well.

“Yo, Parker, I didn’t think you’d come,” and he grabs the nearest red cup and presses it into the palm of his hand, “Man are you in for a good time,” And Peter’s not really sure what to make of that but he doesn’t quite have the brain capabilities he usually has and so he does something that his brain is currently screaming at him not to do; he chugs the drink. It goes down easily (much easier than the god-awful gin does) and Flash smiles at him and slaps him on the back like he’s done something good. That’s when he notices the bottle (notices how empty it had gotten on the way) and something goes through his eyes. Peter’s not sure what it is, maybe it’s surprise, malicious intent, amazement, amusement and maybe worry (but he’s not sure) or maybe it’s all of them at once (maybe it’s something else entirely) but he just smiles and claps his back again clumsily and says  
“Hey, you prepared huh? Nice” and presses another full cup into his hand and wanders off. Peter chugs this one again and then lets himself melt into the scene. The room is full of sweaty, moving bodies, dancing as one unit to some drum and bass riff. Peter lets himself meld into it, joining the entity as everyone gets wasted together. People offer him drinks and he takes them, they offer him food and he eats it, every so often taking a gulp of his own bottle and soon enough everything is merging into one large mass of colours, lights and sounds and everything is so beautiful in the world. The disco lights cast shadows on the floor like stain glass in a church and the vibrato running through the concrete of the house and shaking his bones as he becomes one with everything around him. People grab his hands and shoulders, steering him around, leading him to one place to the next. He is malleable and pliable like clay and he lets them (all Peter can think is that it’s nice to not think about Trace anymore (to not think about Skip)). People dance, they dance in front of him and behind and to every side, people dance with him and at him, they touch him and he dances too. He hears someone break a vase upstairs, he hears Flash swear and dash up to find the source of the noise. Usually, he’d be able to tell exactly where it’s coming from but his head is hazy and the music is loud and the skin on skin contact is overwhelming and the smell of sweat and drink and sex is too much so he ignores it.

Flash eventually comes downstairs with another friend. This friend is tall and stocky and smells like Axe, and not at all like the pretty smelling girls he’s been surrounding himself with this whole evening. Flash and this mystery friend make their way the front of the room and the girl (Shelly, Amanda, something,) stops rubbing his arm and tilting her head when she spots Flash at the front. He’s pointing at him and she takes a step back. He’s got a smirk on his face, maybe he should be worried (but the drink is painting his world in red and green and blue and yellow and maybe he’s too far gone to worry anymore (maybe this is what it’s like to be blackout drunk)) and the mystery friend swaggers over. After having lost the support of Shelly or Amanda or Megan or something Peter just sways in one spot whilst the crowd makes room for him to walk through.

“-Maybe Penis Parker likes dick after all, huh” Peter’s not quite sure what the sentence started with but he knows it’s not good with an ending like that and all of a sudden there’s another body close to his, clammy and cool and not pleasant and the Axe scent is too much and in his nostrils and the drink churns unhappily in his stomach and there’s heavy breathing behind him, he’s grinding on him and whispering in his ears and there are hands on his arms and skin on his skin that burns like fire and-

 _-Skip’s holding his arm down against the bed at a funny angle and it hurts but Skip says he’s doing really well and that soon their experiment will be over and it hurts but he_ wants _Skip to like him and he’ll do anything to hear him call him his little Einstein again because he’s never had a real friend but it hurts and he wants him to stop, stop hurting him, stop making those noises over and over and over again and he can feel the bed moving and he can't stop the tears from dribbling about but he can be quiet and-_

Peter’s not sure what Flash expected to happen but he’s certain he didn’t expect him to vomit judging by the look on his face. Flash looks repulsed and filled with rage but all Peter can do is stand there, spit and bile and sick dribbling down his chin, his hands clawing at his stomach as he stands hunched over on wobbly legs.

“What the actual fuck Parker! What the hell!” Flash doesn’t sound happy as he storms over to him. Neither does this mystery man- Jake he hears the name said- as he gets over the shock of being projectile vomited over. “Yeah what the fuck man! Lightweight, It was just a bit of fun,”, he spits “Fucking prude” at him and, Peter’s still heaving and pushing them away because they’re too close, too close, too close and he can't think, not anymore, he doesn’t want to think (stop thinking, stop thinking, stop thinking) and Flash is pushing him and he doesn’t respond because he doesn’t know where he is and what’s happening and how to speak and all he knows how to do is to not let the tears out because they can’t know, can’t know, they can’t-

He steadies himself against the wall and Flash looks ready to throw down, as does Jake but he just steels himself and runs, he rushes out from the crowd of bodies and out of the door and of the lot and down the street and really as far as he can before his body is rebelling again and he’s being sick in yet another alleyway (been sick in too many alleyways in his short, short life). When he finally gets control of his stomach again he realises two things. One he has no fucking clue where he is, what time it is or how to get home and two he still has his phone in his pocket and it wasn’t stolen (the blue bottle, however, is gone and whether he lost it or finished it he doesn’t know) and so with once again shaking hands he fishes it out. The last opened message is the one from Flash and Peter feels sick again but he holds it down. The brightness on his phone is too bright, but he can’t turn it down any lower and so he just has to bear it as he flicks through the contacts on his phone; May- can’t call her she’ll kill him and then bring him back, lecture him and kill him again, Ned- can’t call him cause it’s what… Peter squints his eyes, 2 AM and what kind of a friend would he be waking him in the morning like this (not a very good one), MJ- can’t call her ‘cause just no, so that just leaves one number- Mr Stark. A bad idea to call Mr Stark at 2 in the morning? Yes. Is it basically his only option? Also yes. Honestly it doesn’t seem that bad an idea (in all honestly it sounds like the worst idea but what can he do (he blames the gin)) Peter thinks, Mr Stark will probably be up ‘cause he’s always awake at God knows what hours in the morning and maybe he won't get too angry cause he can relate (Peter’s heard enough about Tony’s childhood to know that he can relate to getting too drunk at a school party (Peter is only glad it’s not a school night) so Peter decides to bite the bullet and go with the plan of lesser evil.

The ringing is shrill in his ears but he sticks through it. A minute goes by, another minute goes by and he starts to lose hope, maybe he’s asleep, maybe he doesn’t care, maybe he never cared, maybe he lied, maybe- Mr Stark picks up the phone. It takes a second to realise that he actually picked up the phone and so he stands he breathing heavily down into the phone-

“Peter, is that you? Kid, it’s two in the morning,” Tony sounds groggy will sleep, like he just woke up from a nap too early (Peter feels guilty because he gets too little sleep as it is and who is he to be interrupting his dearly needed sleep? He’s just a needy orphan who gets into too much trouble and really should do the bigger thing and leave and-)  
“-eter? I can hear you on the other side, are you hurt?” He can hear the worry in his voice. Peter’s own mouth in clumsy and heavy and his back hits the wall and he slides down it until he’s sat on the floor, his legs pressed into his chest. The floor is wet, water and grime trickle down across his shoulders and it makes him wonder when it started raining and the water is cold and he’s not sure what’s rain and what’s tears anymore-

_The water turned cold 10 minutes ago but Peter still sits on the floor in the shower and he knows that he should feel bad about racking up the water bill but aunt May is at work and so is uncle Ben and what they don’t know won't hurt them and it’s cold water so he guesses it doesn’t count and he just can’t seem to get clean no matter how hard he scrubs he can get rid of the marks and the purples and the blues and the red and he is scrubbing really hard, so hard that the skin is coming off in some places and he just sits there as the cold water makes his skin numb and he gave up crying so long ago and he’s just so lost and cold and empty and-_

“-ETER! Are you okay! I’m gonna get Karen to track your location ~should have done that before, why am I so dumb (Karen track Peter’s location) stupid kid’s gonna be the death of me-” Peter groans as nausea hits him again “Peter! Answer me, come on, give me something to work with here,”

“I don’t know where I am, Mr Stark,” His voice is slurred, he knows it is, the syllables seem to want to stick to the top of the mouth no matter how hard he tries to expel them, “I’m lost Mr Stark, I’m scared, I’m-” he’s starting to hyperventilate, he can’t feel the breath catching in his throat but he stops, he stops because he can hear Mr Stark talking on the phone and he can’t quite work out what he’s saying but he’s asking him a question and he has to answer, he knows he has to but he doesn’t understand and-

“-r, are you drunk?” that he understands. Peter nods clumsily and then realises that Mr Stark can’t see him so he hums (humming sounds pretty, why doesn’t he hum more often? (his singing voice is no good but his humming is adequate and it feels quite nice in his throat and-))

“Peter, listen, pay attention,” He mumbles ‘sorry Mr Stark’ under his breath and he hears Tony sigh in exasperation in response, “I said, how much have you had to drink?”  
“Gin,” Peter says dumbly and he hears Mr Stark grumble about stupid kids that will be the end of him,  
“No Peter I said how much have you have to drink?” the audio’s a bit grainy.  
“Lots,” Peter answers again, dumbly and quietly and he honestly doesn’t know how long he’s been in the alleyway but his butt is getting numb and he’s cold and sick and hungry and he doesn’t know what to do.  
“Peter, I’m coming to collect you” Peter nods again but doesn’t remember to answer verbally this time. Peter’s eyes are heavy, his mind is fuzzy and the world spins around him. He can’t work out when he nodded off but soon enough his eyes are opening as someone is touching his shoulders and lifting him up and he can't do this again he won't do this again, he can protect himself now, he’ll be safe and strong and-

His had makes contact with flesh and the smack it makes is loud. His eyes snap open. It wasn’t hard just surprising, he hadn’t expected to actually hit anything.  
“Peter?” the voice doesn’t sound angry, just concerned and Peter feels so, so safe that he melts again, “it’s okay, I’m taking you home” and the person picks him up bridal style. Peter feels so, so light, he feels like he’s flying. He looks down and he is flying, oh well. He closes his eyes again, he feels himself being held even closer but the touch is not painful this time.  
Eventually he feels himself being lain down on a soft surface and a blanket being draped over him and he drifts into a deeper sleep as a hand strokes his hair back from his sweaty face; he feels safe and warm and loved and he wonders if this is what it’s like to have a father to look after him whilst he’s ill because he knows he had Uncle Ben but it’s not the same, was never the same (and he feels guilty every day because of it)-

“Stupid kid, you’re gonna turn me grey one day,” the hand says.

“Sorry, dad” He mumbles in response, the hand pauses for a moment.

“It’s alright, kid, just go to sleep,”

“Okay, love you,”

“We’ll be talking about this in the morning” I know- sigh- “Love you too, son,”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were three things Peter knew in the moment: He really needed a glass of water (dry mouth was overwhelming his sense), his head hurt like he’d gone one on one with the hulkbuster without his suit and he couldn’t remember what happened yesterday night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many parts of the story but it's become this whole thing now so... There are like 8 parts now and it only gets sadder. I recommend you read all the parts of the story if you want it to make sense but yeah.

There were three things Peter knew in the moment:  He really needed a glass of water (dry mouth was overwhelming his sense), his head hurt like he’d gone one on one with the Hulkbuster without his suit and he couldn’t remember what happened yesterday night. Really he should be more worried about his lack of memory but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Waking up in a new place was not the strangest thing that had ever happened to him (Looking at you random spider that gave him superpowers) and he would be more worried about it if he didn’t already recognise to some extent that someone he knew and trusted was sat right by his side (plus the bed was far too comfortable for this to be a hostage situation). Trying to focus on anything right now was just not gonna happen, he felt too woozy, too nauseous to really do anything at all but he caught a couple of whiffs of an expensive aftershave and his mind was overwhelmed with  _ Mr. Stark _ , that all the memories from last night came rushing back.

 

Flash. The alcohol. The party. The dancing. The colours. Jake. Jake’s hands. Vomiting on Jake. Running away. The Alleyway. 

 

Calling Mr Stark.

 

Shit, he’d actually called Mr Stark; he’s in so much trouble. Peter couldn’t believe that everything that had happened actually happened. Mr Stark’s gonna kill him. Forget that,  _ May _ ’s gonna kill him (if Mr Stark had told her (of course he’ll tell her)). 

 

Peter groans in despair. 

 

He feels a weight shift next to him.

 

“So you decided to go out and get plastered, kid. I’m surprised, that’s usually my brand of self destruction,” Mr Stark didn’t sound happy. 

 

Peter slowly cracks open his eyes and the artificial light attacks them and is doing nothing to ease the raging headache bouncing around his skull that makes him feel like he’s been hit with a baseball bat right between the eyes.

 

Mr Stark looks at him and makes eye contact, looking stern before looking away, shaking his head and tutting. He reaches to the bedside table and hands him a glass of water and a couple of pills that he assumes are a little bit stronger than aspirin (which tends to work through his system extremely quickly).

 

“I ought to tell your aunt about this,” He says, still sounding stern but his face has softened a bit.

 

“You mean to say you haven’t already?” Peter manages to choke out after sitting up and taking the pills and chugging the water.

 

“Nah kid, saw enough of myself in you last night that I knew you wouldn’t want me to. Even though I should ‘cause that’s what a responsible adult would do, but then again who said I was a responsible adult?”

 

“Um, I mean- Mr Stark, I-?” Peter struggles to find words to say anything at all but Mr Stark just waves him off and continues,

  
“It was just a party. That’s a regular teenage thing, I get it, I’ve been there. I’m glad you called me and, since I know May will probably blow it out of proportion- though you are her kid so really she calls the shots- I’ll keep it to myself. You aren’t injured, just pretty hungover and it had nothing to do with Spider-man, so we’ll call it even.” Peter is flooded with relief.

 

“That is to say that if this becomes a regular thing I will be going straight to your aunt and she’ll deal with you instead,” He gives him a look that has Peter gulping.

 

“I- Thank you, Mr Stark,” Peter manages to stammer out (Mr Stark kind of looks disappointed (he can’t seem to place why)) and Mr Stark just gives him a slight smile (more of a smirk to be honest) before the look slides off his face and is replaced by something more akin to concern.

 

“No problem. But, Peter, last night when you called me you seemed quite-” He pauses to find the right word “- upset, I was just wondering if something happened or if- I don’t know, just if you’re alright,” He looks him in the eye and Peter heats up and averts his gaze.

 

“Uh, no, um I mean, I guess- I think it was a sensory thing-” He takes in a breath “like, there was too much going on around me and my senses have been ramped up to 11 since the bite and you know…” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck, “That happened, I guess.” Peter feels awful for lying to him but he can’t find the words to tell him the truth (he feels Jake’s hands on his shoulders, his hips on his and he can’t find the words to speak about how awful (dirty (used)) it made him feel (he ignores how it makes him think about Skip again)).

 

“I’ll see if I can sort something out for that then, like a pair of glasses that look normal or something but work like your suit or maybe invisible ear plugs that dampen sounds- FRIDAY take a note of this-” Peter feels even worse but just laughs awkwardly again.

 

“Yeah,” He fiddles with the covers in between his fingers, looking down (ignoring the feel of someone else’s hand on his skin). Tony cuts himself off.

 

“But the point I’m trying to make is that I’m glad you called me and talked to me and that if you ever need to talk to anyone, I’m not saying that I’ll be the be choice ‘cause I’m quite fuc- messed up but I’ll always pick up the phone and I’ll listen to your generic teenage troubles, even the embarrassing ones- God knows I have an array of advice about the ladies.” He chuckles to himself there, “Just if you ever need me, I’m here for you, okay kid?”

 

Peter just nods half-heartedly and gives a small smile.

 

“Thanks, Mr Stark,”

 

“It’s just Tony, please kid, you make me feel old”

 

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, Tony, then.”

 

Tony pats him on the shoulder as he stands up and walks away and out the room telling him to get freshened up, muttering about new invention ideas.

 

Peter just can’t get the feel of Jake from his mind (can’t get Skip from his mind).

 

He can’t talk to Mr Stark about this.

 

He just can’t.


End file.
